


Love Damage

by RaspberryDawn



Category: Smosh
Genre: Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Caretaking, Deception, Hospitalization, Injury Recovery, M/M, Memory Loss, Smut
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-29
Updated: 2017-12-29
Packaged: 2019-02-23 15:49:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,703
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13193361
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RaspberryDawn/pseuds/RaspberryDawn
Summary: It's terrible to see Shayne in a hospital bed, victim of a mugging. Damien just wants to take him home, to take care of him. Even though he hopes for the best, he prepares for the worst -- that Shayne may not remember they're lovers. After all, he deeply loves him, and all he has ever wanted to do was to show that love.





	Love Damage

**Author's Note:**

> this is going to be a two part story.  
> the next/final part should be up within a few days.  
> this first bit does have smut near the end.

“Hey man.”

It started that simply, with a phrase he’d said a million times before. He had snuck into the hospital room, quietly and afraid, not liking the look of his best friend in the large white bed alone. His fingers clenched around the stems of the flowers he had brought, a modest bouquet of bright yellow daisies. The table-side by his bed was already filled up with much more elaborately set up flowers, and Damien could see that the windowsill was as well — not just flowers, either, but _arrangements_.

He grimaced as he closed the door behind him. Very cautiously, he navigated across the small room to grab a chair (an awful design, the one found at any hospital, the white with the green-teal ‘padding’) and pick it up to set it closer to Shayne’s bed.

Shayne’s eyes were closed. The blankets were bunched around his hip, considering the monitors attached to his chest and the IV port in his arm. There were various bits bandaged up, but he looked better in comparison to when he had first visited. There no longer was the trauma bandages on his head, done away with for small tight stitches visible through white paper tape. At least he was no stranger to having the sides really short… His left arm was in a soft cast, tight against his body.

When he sat down, he sat the flowers on Shayne’s bed directly, near his arm and on top of the thinly knit white blanket.

He laced his own fingers together, folding them on to his lap. It was hard to look at him, utterly vulnerable like this. It was just easier to stare at the flowers and let their bright imagery imprint on his brain.

“I know your family hasn’t been able to make it. I’m sorry about that. I’m guessing they’re the ones who sent some of the flowers. But, I’ve been looking after your cat.” As if that made anything better. “Kinda weird to think I was your emergency contact. When it came down to it, I came and visited and really… _really_ quickly realized I couldn’t see you sick like this. I’ve dealt with people being sick in my life, and he died, so, you… know all this already.”

Taking a deep, shaky breath, he closed his eyes.

“You _should_ know all that. They’re still doing tests and all, and it’s obvious there’s some big concussion and I guess they said that’s doing a bit better, like your life isn’t in immediate danger, but from what they can tell your memory is jumbled up and basically gone to shit.”

With another deep breath, he raised both of his hands to his own face. He rubbed at his eyes from underneath his glasses, gently raking his nails down his cheeks as he resigned himself to staring at Shayne in bed.

“The nurse said you were awake last she checked.”

There was a sudden frown on the face on the man laying in bed. Damien looked over to the heart monitor, where it seemed like there was the smallest of blips.

“If you don’t really want to talk, that’s fine. But you remember me, right? You know who I am, right, Shayne? You’re my best friend.”

He had been told that after the crash, he had been asked for in specific, by name. However, that was also at least one surgery and a multitude of stitches and scans ago.

Shayne raised his fingers, inching them towards the flowers. He reached out and grabbed the cellophane that wrapped them up, and Damien’s own heart did a small leap of it’s own.

The softest sigh escaped his lips. They were cracked roughly, making him wince just the slightest as he moved them. He felt so stiff, like a sack full of rocks and sand.

“I know you. You’re Damien.”

He wriggled on the bed, trying to sit up the slightest. Immediately springing to action, the brunet leaned in and pushed down his shoulders gently yet firmly while on the edge of his own seat.

Shayne opened his eyes. He felt so tired and weary — he squinted, because it was close to feeling like he had glass in his eyes. He let his own gaze slowly fall elsewhere, out of shame of how vulnerable he felt. A deep frown was set on his lips. 

Damien reached to the sliding table on wheels nearby, grabbing a plastic cup with some water in it off. He mused silently as he bent the large plastic straw a bit, bringing the cup just underneath him so it was accessible and letting the blond get a drink himself.

Everything Damien did, he felt stiff and mechanical. He knew what to do, how to help his ailed friend, but it was miserable seeing him like this. 

“How much _do_ you remember?”

An absolute impossible question, and he knew it. Quantifying memory was an outlandish task that was much easier said than done.

“If you remember me, you remember we’re best friends, right?”

Shayne pulled away from the drink, looking at Damien with concern. He may have been the one holed up in his own world, frail and injured, and while he wasn’t normally this receptively empathetic he could feel the emotion ooze from his friend. 

He croaked a quiet _’yeah’_ , wishing that the IV port didn’t sting so much when he moved his arm. He managed to lace his fingers against the fabric that hung from Damien’s arm off of his hoodie, and waited for him to continue.

“They said that you weren’t even sure what year it was… I don’t know how all this stuff works. I don’t know if that means you really lost the time, or what.” Shayne could melt for those puppy eyes behind those glasses, but he just quietly hung on to him. Damien put the cup down on the bed, holding on to it still, letting Shayne’s hand clasp over his arm instead. He even moved it downward, closer and closer to Damien’s own hand.

His next plea was spoken quietly, but not softly — his eyes were focused on their hands, his expression listless.

“Do you remember that we’re together? That we _finally_ started dating?”

The blond bit his bottom lip, only for a moment, before he nodded his head just the slightest and closed his eyes again. 

“Yeah,” he claimed, this time with more conviction in his voice than before, the volume a normal level and his tone unwavering, “I do.”

/ / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / 

He couldn’t stop staring at Damien as the other man cooked.

He had been advised to just sit at the table, or sit on the couch, or lay down in bed, or do anything besides help — only to wait. While he really appreciated all that the other man was doing for him, all that he _had_ already done for him, he was beginning to feel the tiniest bit… useless.

Not helpless, no, because he could get up and move and do things and even move his arm, too. The past two weeks since he had been released from the hospital, however, it was as if Damien didn’t want him to move a muscle. 

(In fact, he was fond of using that exact same phrase. Shayne didn’t have to move a muscle. He _wanted_ to.)

Damien would shuttle him back and forth to his physical therapy, three times a week, and he would then get to flex. They hadn’t put his arm in a hard cast, and even were soon talking of removing it. The stitches were gone from his head, too. The bruises that were left were a pallid yellow ready to be gone the next time he woke up.

It seemed like Damien thought he was too fragile, though. Maybe he thought keeping Shayne in a contained cocoon was going to save him from anything in the future. After all, he hadn’t said it out loud, but Shayne was pretty sure Damien believed he wouldn’t have been hurt if he hadn’t tried to fight the two thieves off.

The brunet was humming a song to himself, occasionally breaking out and singing the correct word here and there with no music around him. He seemed pretty energetic, but in his own reserved way that made it clear that his boundless energy was still mainly within.

It was a distraction tactic likely.

“You sure you don’t want me to do anything?”

He had his elbow on the table, his chin in his hand as his phone was open to some article on number stations, mysterious radio stations that sent out strings of numbers thought by some to be spy code. It was an interesting read, but he felt so idle that it felt hard to keep his attention focused. His life just felt like a certain flavor of ennui.

“I got it.”

Shayne was rather fond of staring at him. After answering, he had gone right back to humming, while the blond clicked the sleep button on the side of his phone.

After taking a deep breath, he rose to his feet and walked in to the kitchen anyhow. Damien had turned to look at him, yet, he seemed to freeze in place when Shayne held on to his hips and peered around him to watch him stir chicken and peppers in the pan. 

“It's fine, I have it under control.”

Damien repeated his intent, softly and with confidence. Shayne smirked, his head tilted, wondering how to wedge himself in to doing _anything_.

“It does look pretty good," he admitted, nestling his body against the other. He pressed his torso in to Damien's back, his head against his shoulder, and the other froze slightly at feeling the warm breath against his neck. "Maybe tomorrow I can cook for you, instead."

He frowned just the slightest as he felt the other tense at that suggestion. But Damien, sweet Damien, he kept a thin smile on his lips as he lied to not be outright dismissive.

"Yeah, maybe... You have physical therapy, though. You may be too tired after that."

He had never really felt tired after it, but it seemed like Damien was just trying to grasp at absolutely any straws that he could.

"Then I could make you lunch. Or even breakfast, you know? I know how you take your coffee."

Damien turned off the heat on the stove top, the food he was cooking finished. He set aside the spatula he had been using, and set both of his hands over Shayne's own. He held the hands in place gently, relishing the feeling of the other being right against him.

“Shayne, I appreciate it, man, I really do, and I know you’re working _so_ hard but you just… you just gotta let this stuff run it’s course. Don’t push yourself too much. You may already be healing, yeah, but there’s so much more to that than just the outside.”

It seemed like he was honestly, truly concerned. Even though he would occasionally watch Shayne at physical therapy, that he could see that the blond could break a sweat and not be too bothered, it occurred to him that he seemed too cautious over the subject of his cognitive therapy instead. He didn’t want to encroach on the subject of how his head was doing; not any of the neurology or memories or the casual headaches, none of it. 

Maybe he needed to be shown that he was feeling pretty damn okay. He could handle it. While it still likely rang true that he wouldn’t be able to handle everything alone, and he appreciated Damien staying as the doctor had said it was good for him to have company and make sure no severe symptoms crept in… He just had the urge to show Damien that he was alright, to thank him for what he had done, and to do so both simultaneously.

After all, even if you were to let something ‘run it’s course’, the course could be sped up a little.

“I feel great, at the moment.”

He shimmied away from Damien, hands still on his hips, guiding him to follow him along. The brunet did, curiously, turning around towards the other man as they both walked out of the kitchen.

If he had even had just an inkling of what was on Shayne’s mind, he wouldn’t have known how to react still. 

In no time, the shorter man had him pinned against the wall, his uninjured arm raised with his fingers in Damien’s hair to force his head down for a kiss.

“Let me do something nice for you,” Shayne murmured, coaxing Damien with his words and his smile. What a nice little rush it was to see how off guard the other man was at the contact, but Damien gave a slight haughty laugh.

“Let's go to the bedroom.”

They had been sleeping together in there, with full pajamas and separate blankets for them to huddle up with.

“Let me help you take your clothes off…”

It was going so quickly, and Damien was surprised. Shayne had sat on the bed after he pulled off the other man’s shirt, working on his belt and jeans from his lowered spot. He leaned in and kissed Damien’s taut, lean muscled stomach, his fingertips grazing against the pale skin until they hooked in the elastic of his boxer briefs.

Shayne was gripping him so expertly through the cotton fabric, his hand tracing and stroking the outline of his hardening erection.

“Let me blow you.”

Damien’s mouth felt so dry as he just stared down at his best friend, his bottom lip hung open in awe as he nodded. Those slate blue eyes were gorgeous and captivating, enough to help him forget about the feeling of the soft canvas cast brushing his thigh or the food on the stovetop going cold. 

It was fairly evident that Shayne wasn’t too experienced, his breathing so heavy against the brunet’s skin as he struggled to both use his mouth and breathe out of his nose. 

He was certainly enjoying himself regardless. No complaints.

The younger man didn’t finish him off. Instead, he coaxed Damien to join him on the bed, spreading his legs wide open, asking where he kept lube, apologizing and laughing and teasing then about the lube being cold… 

Shayne had fingered him and stretched him open, feeling pretty good about himself in this position of power. He felt so _in control_ as he gave Damien a pillow for his neck, sliding on a condom before he slid right in to his best friend.

Damien was _loud_ , so loud, even though Shayne could see he was biting his own hand to try and stop from screaming out. When Shayne had dared to suggest maybe it hurt too much, Damien _pleaded_ for him to keep going.

So, it wasn’t the worst thing when Damien turned the tables, asking Shayne to let him ride him instead. 

He couldn’t remember the last time he saw such pure pleasure on a person’s face. Damien’s naked body gleamed with sweat, his abdomen muscles curling as he rolled his hips violently on top of Shayne. 

When he reached out and stroked Damien, one of the brunet’s hands immediately flung to cover his mouth again. 

Needless to say, they both ended up sprawled on the bed afterwards. Damien used a few tissues to clean up his cum from their torsos, while throwing away the condom Shayne used as well.

It had been one hell of a workout, at the least.

Shayne admitted that it had felt like the first time — the implications of the wording something he hadn’t really thought about. It made Damien tense, even worried slightly, though he knew Shayne was in his right mind when it came to consenting. He hadn’t been _that_ far gone. Some cheesy Shayne commentary wasn’t meant to have any actual weight behind it.

But he still worried.

If it was just a quip or not, how would he know? Would Shayne truly politely just try to cover certain things up? 

How would he deal with going back to work?

And _what_ was Shayne ultimately still struggling to remember? 

**Author's Note:**

> by the way! there is now a smosh shipping discord, that started up off of tumblr. if you would like an invite, please let me know in the comments - I'll send one and then delete the comment once you affirm you joined. (this is to keep it not ENTIRELY public)  
> we are nice lovely folks and it's a very nice, welcoming environment.  
> (this message posted dec 29 2017 - the offer is current)


End file.
